


The Nursery

by telera



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Angst, Daddy Kink, Dark, Diapers, Emotional Manipulation, Humiliation, Infantilism, M/M, Medical Kink, Non-Consensual, Restraints, Shaving, Spanking, and a bit of, scat references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telera/pseuds/telera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Chilton wants to be a daddy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Do you want to read the Hannibal Lecter version of this? --> [The Mackenzie Treatment](http://archiveofourown.org/works/898188/chapters/1735541)  
> ^=^

 

The tapping of a cane down the corridor tells me I won’t be getting my dinner tonight. Dr. Chilton is too happy with the success of the latest narcoleptic interviews, and his presence here tonight can only mean one thing. More sodium amytal, more needles, more memories forced back to the surface. I don’t really mind, after all it was my idea to tell him that I was under his exclusive care. But I had expected to see nurse Brown tonight. He is always kind to me, and his little smile is the only thing that warms my heart in this place.

 

‘Mr. Graham’ the pompous Chilton announces himself as he stops right in front of my cell. Two orderlies have brought a wheelchair with them, and the wrist straps are unbuckled and ready for me.

 

‘You sure don’t expect me to run away from your hospital, right, Frederick?’

 

‘You sure understand the need to implement the new rules concerning patient mobility in my hospital, Mr. Graham. As general administrator, I can make no exceptions’.

 

The door buzzes open and I sit on the wheelchair wary and alert. The sooner we get this over with the better, but there is something nagging at the back of my head. Something’s wrong, very much so. It’s too late to protest, though, and I try a wry smile as I’m taken down the corridor. Not to our usual “interview room”, but to a padded cell Frederick himself unlocks with a little key.

 

For a moment I blink and it’s as if I had entered into somebody else’s childhood memories. The cell is a nursery, with a huge white crib and dozens of teddy bears. There is even a musical mobile hanging from the ceiling, and how they got that up there I do not know. I feel sick to the pit of my stomach when I see the changing table has a padded mat with doggies and two old fashioned medical stirrups stretched and ready. The wrist restraints make sense now, because I could have killed the smug, smarmy Frederick right there and then.

 

‘We’re going to start a new kind of therapy’ he has the audacity to say as the orderlies manhandle me from the wheelchair to the crib. I know they have gags for difficult patients, but Frederick orders none. He is expecting to hear me cry my head off, and I’m very close to indulge him when the orderlies strip me off my blue inmate uniform and wrap me in a warm baby pajama. It’s a sort of toddler’s jumpsuit with puppies on it, and I imagine Frederick in front of his laptop, looking for suppliers online and choosing the size and print for me as he fondles his cock slowly.  What a great time he must have had.

 

I clench my jaw so hard I feel my teeth throbbing, and so I manage to swallow my scream.  I won’t give Frederick the satisfaction, not even when the orderlies strap me face down on the crib and put my hands into fleeced, padlocked mittens. I catch my breath when they leave, and I suppress a shiver when Frederick tucks a safety blanket under my chin.

 

‘There, there. Daddy loves you very much, but I have work to do. I’ll be back in a while with a nice bottle for you, baby boy’.

 

‘I’m not a baby!’

 

The shout leaves my lips before I can stop it, full of venom and outrage, and Frederick chuckles lightly.

 

‘Not yet, sweet Will. But you will be. Very soon’.

 

He leaves, and the lights are switched off when the door shuts behind him. I’m left with the dancing stars that the mobile projects on the walls of the padded cell, and the soft lullaby one of the sleep soothers is playing. I close my eyes to avoid the sight of the changing table, but it’s not the stirrups that make me shiver. It’s the pile of nappies stacked under the table, that and the many baby toiletries lined up next to it. Nappy rash cream. Baby cologne. Diaper wipes.

 

I tell myself I won’t cry, but a tear gets soaked into the security blanket. My only comfort is that Frederick doesn’t see it.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

I wish it had all been a nightmare, but when I open my eyes the teddy bears are still there. And the changing table. And the diapers.

 

I try to wriggle free of the restraints and mittens, useless as I know it is. I am lying on my stomach on the crib, just as newborns are in a maternity ward. The position becomes uncomfortable after a while, and my back aches badly. I’m hungry and bored, at least back in my cell I could walk and count the wet bricks on the wall. I never thought I would miss _that_ , but I do. All I see now is the fluffy pillow where my head is resting. There’s only the white padded wall to the left, and the changing table to the right. I close my eyes and clench my teeth so tight they hurt. I can’t bear the sight of it.

 

How many days has Chilton spent preparing this? Ordering supplies and getting everything ready. I imagine him going to Baby R Us to buy the teddy bears and I feel sick. No, he didn’t go to the shop himself, he ordered them online.

 

There’s something unnerving about the plushies, and after a while I realize they’re all _different_. There are big and small bears, pink elephants, a few Dalmatian puppies and even some stuffed dolls. Frederick wasn’t buying all this in bulk, and least of all, at random. He chose the toys one by one, making the collection as realistic as possible. This nursery looks like a real baby bedroom, and that’s what scares me the most.

 

I squeeze my eyes shut, but I can still see everything in my mind, like when I analyze a crime scene. One by one each and every little detail falls into place, and the puzzle has a sickening logic behind it. The doggie print on the sheets and on my pj tells me this is all for _me_. I wouldn’t be surprised if the baby cologne had a dog on the bottle as well. Frederick may not be the brightest of psychiatrists, but what he lacks in insight he makes up in pettiness.

 

Maybe I can turn that to my advantage. Difficult as it will be, I must outwit Chilton at his vey own game. Become exactly what he wants, make him turn his guard down. And maybe then I’ll have a chance to escape. It’s not going to be easy. Actually, it’s going to be nothing short of _revolting_. But I must do it.

 

I must.

 

*

 

The key turns in the lock and the door of the padded cell swings open. The two orderlies bring a high chair with them, adult sized of course, with a heavy duty harness to keep me in place for the feeding session. Frederick enters the nursery with a bottle in one hand and a bib in the other, and I know I must get ahead of him now, take control before he even speaks.

 

‘Daddy’ I whisper ‘Who are those men, they scare me’.

 

Frederick is not expecting it, and for a moment his face shows shock and surprise. He’s not stupid, though, and sees right through this in a second. I don’t care, a turnabout such as this wouldn’t fool anyone. But the important thing is that he plays ball. Which he does.

 

‘Oh, poor little baby’ he murmurs ‘Are you afraid of daddy’s friends?’

 

I nod and pout the best I can, even try the proverbial puppy eyes with him.

 

‘Yes, daddy. Tell them to leave, I want to be with you. Only you’.

 

Frederick smiles and pets my hair lovingly.

 

‘But Sam and Terry are here to help you sit in your chair, baby boy. You know daddy can’t do it all by himself, after the tummy accident—’

 

‘I’ll sit on the chair myself, daddy’ I say ‘I’ll show you what a good boy I am’.

 

‘Oh’ Frederick gives me a crooked smile. He doesn’t buy any of it, of course, but’s he’s too curious to see where all this is going. Curious is good. I can work with that.

 

‘Go ahead’ he says, and the orderlies unbuckle the wrist restraints and slide the crib rail down. I sit awkwardly and stretch my back with a grunt, and I’m about to jump on my feet to walk to the high chair when Chilton lifts a finger.

 

‘U-uh. Good little babies can’t walk yet, so they crawl for their daddies’.

 

I clench my jaw at that, and Frederick’s smile widens. He obviously wants a full performance, and I taste acrid bile in my mouth as I fall on my knees and crawl towards the high chair on my hands and knees.

‘Wah-wah’ I say, because frankly, it’s the only thing that comes to mind ‘I want my daah-ddy’.

 

I crawl a bit more for show, then I let myself be sat on the chair, and I stay quiet and limp as the orderlies make sure the harness is snugly tied over my chest. My hands are free, though, and I know from the twinkle in Chilton’s eyes that it’s done on purpose. He wants me to fight and struggle, maybe even slap him. Not that he needs an excuse to punish me, of course, but all fantasies follow a script. And you don’t spank a kid unless he misbehaves.

 

‘I’m so hungry, daddy’ I say as sweetly as I can, and he gestures for the orderlies to leave. They do, and I stay put as he ties the bib around my neck.

 

‘Daddy has prepared a very special bottle for his baby boy’ he cooes ‘And—’

 

‘I’m going to drink it all, daddy, you’ll see. I want to be a big boy for you’.

 

He frowns at that, obviously upset at being interrupted. But it’s more than that, and we both know it. I’m messing with his script, and his loving attitude can become evil and unpredictable very quickly. Frederick does have a short temper, so I better not be a smart ass so soon.

 

‘Open’ he orders tapping the teat on my lips, and I obey meekly. The latex teat fills my mouth, another adult sized prop he’s carefully prepared in advance. I suck a little and taste warm, sweet milk. It’s no doubt formula, and who knows what other stuff Chilton has put in it. But I have no choice, so I drink as fast as I can to be done with it.

 

‘Very good’ Frederick praises ‘Now, does my baby have a big burp for daddy?’

 

He pats my back softly, and I blush as I manage a little burp.

 

‘Excellent. You’ve done very good, baby boy. Too good, actually. Now, daddy has some patients to see, but I’ll return as soon as possible. Take a good, nice nap’.

 

He doesn’t say it, but the _You’ll need it_ hangs heavily in the room. Frederick kisses my forehead and I try a tiny smile. As he leaves I start to feel sleepy and dizzy, obviously the milk was laced with some sedative. I don’t want to close my eyes, I want to stay awake and plan something for what’s coming, this is the calm before the storm and I must be ready.

 

But I can’t.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Let me tell you about fear.

 

The kind that you feel in a crime scene, when you enter the mind of a killer and feel excited about choking a victim to death. That joy lingers inside you for days on end, and it’s there, tingling in your fingertips when you prepare a bowl of cereal or comb your hair in the morning. And you wonder- have my fingers the same strength- the same desire to do it?

 

That’s the kind of fear that’s been gnawing at me for years on end. But it’s nothing compared to what I feel when I wake up in the nursery.

 

I knew I would be strapped to the changing table sooner or later, but I wasn’t expecting to see myself spread-eagled, naked and _shaved_. The smell of shaving cream fills the air, and there is a generous dollop rubbed on my crotch. The rest of my body feels wet and oversensitive, and I realize there is not a single hair anywhere. Not on my cheeks, not on my chest, not even under my arms.

 

I feel raped. It’s as simple as that. My body is not my own, suddenly I’m one step closer to being a smooth plastic doll than a man. Or the baby Frederick wants me to be.

 

He’s standing between my stretched legs, and watches with a wide smile as I thrash wildly in the restraints. The medical stirrups creak with a metallic noise as I kick out, but I can’t help it. I can’t keep up the charade, not like this, not when I’m stripped off my dignity. It was easy to pretend being a baby before, when all I had to do was crawl and babble a little. But now I want out, I want to escape- and above all, I want to kill _him_.

 

‘Well, well’ Frederick grins ‘It seems I do have a naughty, feisty baby after all’.

 

He gets the straight razor and begins to shave my crotch in short, smooth swipes. I’m not stupid so I stop the thrashing, the last thing I want is to have nicks and cuts down there. But my mouth is free, and so is my mind, and I manage a string of profanity unlike anything the walls of this hospital have ever heard. After all, I was brought up in Louisana. And nobody curses like we do there.

 

Frederick pays no heed, though, and continues to shave my cock and balls, applying more cream here and there and running a washcloth over my genitals when he’s done. For a moment I fear he’s going to molest me, but that would be too easy- and not humiliating enough. Frederick’s mind doesn’t work that way, he needs to see me writhing in mortification to satisfy his petty sadism. And I have to admit his solution is simple. Cheap. And terrifyingly effective.

 

At first I don’t know what he’s doing- or why he doesn’t get a thick diaper from the stack of supplies under the changing table. He unfolds a pair of old fashioned plastic pants instead, which he pulls up my legs as the two orderlies hold me down. They have to unbuckle my ankle restraints from the stirrups for that, and they are expecting a fight. Damn right, because I can’t pretend anymore. The farce is over, and I have the satisfaction of kicking one of the orderlies on the chest. Frederick says nothing, and it’s his lack of smug, sarcastic comments what scares me the most. Chilton likes to gloat, he can’t help it. Why isn’t he doing it now?

 

They move me to the high chair next, and as they sat me down I feel my skin hot and sweaty. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, being encased in these snug plastic pants, and the shaving from before makes me feel itchy and upset.

 

‘Now’ Frederick says at last, and I frown as the orderlies bring a chair for him ‘The castor oil in the milk should be moving things… _fast’_.

 

I don’t understand what he means, or why the orderlies leave. Frederick leans his cane on the padded wall and sits on the chair. I almost laugh when he opens a baby magazine - _Practical Parenting_ \- and begins to read. Almost.

 

It’s frustrating to be sitting here doing nothing, especially as I know Chilton is one step ahead of me. What is he waiting for? What is that oil he’s put in the milk? I bite my tongue hard to avoid engaging him in a conversation, and I watch with barely contained anger as he turns the pages of the magazine cool and composed. I imagine him reading an article like _Temper Tantrums – Do’s and Don’ts_ , and a hundred scathing remarks come to mind. They’re poisoning my tongue when they should be poisoning his ear, but I won’t play his game. That’s what I think, anyway, until the first cramp hits.

 

My guts growl noisily all of a sudden, and the tiniest of smirks on Frederick’s lips tells me this is what he’s been waiting for. I know with a sudden certainty what’s going to happen, and everything makes sense in a split second. The plastic pants, the high chair, the whatever-was-called-oil in the milk. Frederick wants to me to shit myself. It’s simple. Effective. And utterly terrifying.

 

Don’t talk to me about fear. What I feel is beyond that. And if you haven’t soiled yourself in front of another person, at the age of thirty-three, sitting in a pair of plastic pants on a high-chair, don’t’ judge me. Just- _don’t_.

 

It surprises me how long it takes me to beg. I sure had some kind of strength hidden somewhere. Because I only do it when it’s about to happen, when I know I can’t hold it anymore. That castor oil thing must be the strongest laxative ever invented. I know it’s a loosing battle, I know I’m going to _go_ right here, right now, so I look at Dr. Chilton and I plead. And you know what? You would do it too.

 

‘Please’ I beg, and I don’t care about the tears or the sniffles ‘Please, daddy. Put a diaper on me’.

 

Oh, the irony. The exquisite, unmatched irony. Frederick savours it as the sadist he is, and walks up to me with a warm smile.

 

‘ _The itsy-bitsy spider_

_Climbed up the water spout…’_

 

he sings, and I know I’m going to poop myself like this, as Chilton sings this lullaby. Hannibal Lecter would spare me the song. I know he would. If only it were him instead of Frederick.

 

It happens. Of course it does, what did you expect? I’ll spare you the details, though. But it’s warm and messy as it fills the plastic pants to the brim.

 

I think if Frederick wanted me to bark I would. Or bleat or meow or oink, I would do it to be spared this humiliation. As it is, I know he wants me to cry, and I do. Honestly. Genuinely. No fakes here, I just weep my heart out, and hope he’s satisfied. I think he is, because he caresses my hair and calms me down with his best soothing voice.

 

But I should have known better.

 

He calls the orderlies, and I expect to be moved to the changing table to be heavily diapered. Only, that’s exactly what I want. And Frederick -pompous, smarmy, clever Frederick- _knows_.

 

I’m taken to the crib instead, and tied face down as I when this nightmare began.

 

‘And now’ he announces ‘Daddy’s going to punish his fouled mouth baby for all those insults before’.

 

I refuse to believe it, but Frederick begins to spank me then. Over my soiled plastic pants, hard and fast, with something that must be a wooden paddle or the like. All the shit - _my_ shit- begins to squelch and drip down the rim of the pants. Eventually, it overflows everything. Chilton doesn’t care, and continues with the spanking ruthless and unflinching.

 

‘I’ll return in the morning’ he says after fifty blows, and tucks the security blanket under my chin as he did yesterday ‘Sleep tight, sweet Will’.

 

The lights go off and the mobile begins to project shiny stars on the padded walls of the nursery. The sleep soother starts playing, and it’s _Itsy Bitsy Spider_ tonight. Of course it is. I’m left all alone like this, with this smell. This pain. These broken pieces of who I used to be. Because I’m broken. At least I’m still lucid enough to know as much.

 

As darkness swirls around me, I remember something that happened a few years ago. A puppy I saw at a shelter the police closed down after many complaints. The poor little thing was caged, literally living in its own shit and piss as nobody ever cleaned its crate. It was famished and about to die, and when it jumped into my arms, I knew the puppy would have eaten glass shards off my hand for the comfort I offered. I did all I could, but Shelby died a few days later.

 

My only hope is that daddy doesn’t let me die tonight.

 

*

 

I know it’s been eight hours, because that’s how the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane works. Eight hours soiled in my crib, unable to scratch my bottom and feeling as my skin throbs with an itchy rash that seems to be causing scabs everywhere. Eight hours watching the stack of diapers under the changing table, longing for the talcum powder and wipes and nappy cream. Eight hours waiting for daddy.

 

He appears at last, and he’s so beautiful. So gentle, so perfect. My old self whispers _capture bonding_ in my ear, but I don’t understand those words anymore. I only understand _dada, boo-boo, didee, pewie, doo-doo_ now.

 

And you know what? You would understand them too.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this little epilogue sort of happened. I hope you like it ^=^

Daddy is good.

 

He really is, it’s only that, as he says, I’m a very difficult boy. And so sometimes he must be hard with me, for my own good. I understand, he only wants what’s best for me. Daddy knows best, after all. But it’s so difficult to be a good boy for him. I try very hard, but there are things that just—

 

Take my little hole. Daddy says that good boys must have big and stretched holes for their daddies to play with. And whenever he comes to my room, he makes sure to finger me thoroughly, whether I want or not. That’s the point, he says. My body is his to do as he pleases, and he will shove his fingers up my naughty hole until I learn to like it. Even crave it, he says. And to help me have a nice, gaping hole, daddy has introduced the good night plug.

 

I hate it with a passion, because it’s thick and hard and very uncomfortable. Daddy calls the nurses after dinner to move me from my crib to the changing table, and although he always promises a lollipop if I behave well, I never do. Throwing a tantrum also costs me a blistering spanking, but I can’t help it. It’s bad enough that daddy sees me splayed out and naked, but having the nurses hold my legs in the diaper position is impossible to bear. They watch avidly while daddy fingers me open with the nappy cream, and they snigger when he pushes the good night plug inside.

 

I cry and kick out, the hollow plug forces my little hole open unceremoniously, and it will remain like that all night long. I cannot clench or push it out, so I’ll go in the diaper without noticing it. Again, that’s the point according to daddy. Good little boys have no sphincter control, so neither must I. With the mushy diet of purees I get that’s barely an effort, but the shame and tears always hurt the same. And somehow, daddy makes sure I always go during the night, so my first waking thought the next day is that I need him, badly. To change the diaper, to take the good night plug out, to love me and soothe me.

 

Daddy is very good at that. Morning is my favourite time of the day, and when I’m nice and clean he tickles my belly and tells me _The Ugly Duckling_ tale. He says I’m just like the ugly duckling, bad and naughty, that’s why people feared me when I worked back in the FBI. But daddy loves me very much, and he will turn me into the most beautiful, lovable little duck of the world.

 

It’s funny, sometimes, when daddy leaves and I hug my doggie plushies in my crib, I seem to remember a different tale. Something good happened to the ugly duckling in the end. He was just different, and those who taunted and mocked him were just plain cruel.

 

But I must be wrong, because daddy is good.

 

Why would he lie to me?

 


End file.
